


Scars Like Constellations

by wordcraze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:43:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcraze/pseuds/wordcraze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets bullied at school every day, and he can’t stand much more. Then Zayn comes into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars Like Constellations

The alarm clock blares into his ear, and it jolts him awake. His heart pounds in his chest, but it’s not due to being startled. He dreads going to school. There’s nothing safer than being buried underneath his blankets, and there’s nothing more dangerous than walking the halls to his locker. The pressure crushes his chest at the thought of it.

There’s no visible sunlight through the blinds, and it could be because it’s too early for that. Maybe if he gets to school early, he can hang out in the teachers’ lounge to avoid people, or hide out in the library. But people will find him. They always do.

Harry gets dressed quickly, and he hurries out the door before his parents can wake up, and inquire about his black eye. He managed to avoid them yesterday by going straight to his room, and skipping dinner. He hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday’s lunch, and the lurch in his stomach is a painful reminder. School is only a few blocks away, so he walks, and hopes that he doesn’t run into anyone.

The building looks large and ominous, and to Harry, it’s nothing but a seven-hour prison. He drags his feet as he goes up the stairs, and he can feel the back of his neck, and the pit of his stomach growing cold. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen today. But it’s something new every day, and whatever it is, it’s going to hurt. 

Before he can process another thought, he is slammed painfully into the lockers, and his books slip from his hands. A group of boys laugh as they pass by, and one of them looks back to say, “Sorry, didn’t see you.” But his smirk says otherwise, along with the mutter of “ _faggot_ ” under his breath.

Harry winces, and he crouches down to pick up his books. It’s barely 8 am, and his body is already aching. But it aches every day, and the most disturbing part is that he’s used to this. He expects it. It’s his reality, and part of his routine, when it shouldn’t be. This shouldn’t be anyone’s reality.

His parents had a meeting with the principal, and all Harry got out of it was “kids will be kids, and they’ll grow out of it.” How fucked up is that? After all the mental torture, after the bruises, the name-calling, and the scars, all he got out of it was “kids will be kids.” There is something grossly unfair about it, but he doesn’t have a say. He’s robbed of everything, including his voice on the matter.

Harry can barely pay attention in class. His fingers are shaking, and he can’t grip a pen properly. He’s in English class, and they’re learning about  _The Scarlet Letter_. Sometimes he thinks he’s got a scarlet A stitched on his clothes, invisible to him, but visible to everyone else. 

It started at the beginning of last year. Harry hadn’t known that there was much speculation about his sexuality, and he didn’t think it would even be a problem. But his classmates had devised a cruel plan, tricking him into outing himself. One of the more popular boys pretended to be interested in him, and Harry had fallen for it. And it all went to shit from there. 

He feels something light hit the back of his head, and he turns to see a group of girls giggling in the back. So he glances down to see a bunched up paper, which turns out to be a brochure. It reads, ’ _Burdened by your homosexual lifestyle? Get help now!_ ’ Harry just crumples it up, and tries not to cry.

Lunch is always the worst. As he tries to escape to the library without being noticed, a girl steps in his way.

“You’re going to hell,” she says. “You’re gay, so that means you’re going to hell.”

Harry just pushes past her without another glance.

But sometimes he thinks about it. If he’s actually going to hell. If how he is, and how he feels is a bad enough sin to keep him out of heaven with no chance of redemption. But how is that fair? If he can’t help how he is, should he still be punished? Everything about his life seems unfair, and he wonders what he’s done to deserve it.

He takes a seat in the far corner of the library, in an attempt to hide himself. There aren’t that many people here, since everyone would rather be at lunch than doing schoolwork. He tries to conceal his peanut butter sandwich because food isn’t allowed in the library, but he’s starving so he’ll risk it. 

Harry focuses in on one person in the library, and there’s a weird little flutter in his chest. It’s stupid because he shouldn’t be feeling anything, since there’s absolutely no chance. So why would he even entertain thoughts of it by daring to feel something?

Zayn Malik is the definition of beautiful. Harry likes his perfect features, and how he walks and moves, and how he speaks. Zayn is quiet, and keeps to himself most of the time, but he’s well-liked by everyone. He’s nice, and he’s never done a thing to Harry. But he hasn’t exactly stood up for Harry either, but Harry can’t blame him. They don’t know each other well.

But Zayn looks up and catches Harry’s eye for a second, and Harry quickly looks down, trying to busy himself with something else. He doesn’t want Zayn hating him, or thinking that he would try to come on to him. Harry wouldn’t ever try that with anyone, especially Zayn. 

\- - -

Harry is almost jumped on the way home. But running away all the time has proved to be in his favor, because he’s no longer really out of breath when he makes quick getaways. After one block, he loses them, but he doesn’t slow down. All he can see are passing houses, and all he can hear is his pulse, and his shoes hitting the pavement. 

When he gets home, he locks himself up in the bathroom, and drags a sharp razor over his arm. The blood trickling down his pale skin is so pretty, and he lets himself feel good for a few minutes. He’s dizzy with it, and he wishes he could just feel this way all day. For a moment, he doesn’t care. For a moment, he’s able to have control. This pain is  _his_  doing, and not anyone else’s. That’s how it should be.

\- - - 

It’s worse the next day. A group of boys find Harry in the gym, and they pin him down and write  _ **faggot**_  on his forehead with a black marker. He escapes with marker on his skin, and a bloody lip.

Harry is bent over the sink, and he’s splashing water on his face. The marker comes off easily, but the word has been etched into his skin so deeply, and there’s nothing strong enough that could wash it out.

He dabs at his bottom lip with a damp paper towel, and he manages to clean off most of the blood. But he’s had enough. He’s done. 

\- - - 

No one knows that the door leading to the roof is unlocked. Harry is inching towards the edge, and he looks down. The sight makes him queasy, but he also sees it as an escape. There is nothing appealing about being alive. It’s like being stuck in a trap, and he tries to claw his way out, but he keeps falling back in. The words hurt more than the punches, and he just wants to go to a place where nothing will hurt him anymore. Maybe there’s a place he can fly away to. A place where he’s loved. He is mentally and physically exhausted, and he wants everything to stop. He’s ready. He’s ready to let go. 

Harry leans forward, and he feels himself start to fall. And the only thing that goes through him is adrenaline, excitement, and a sense of relief. Just a few more seconds, and this will all be over. But he’s suddenly jerked back into reality when a pair of arms circle his waist, tighten, and pull him to safety. He topples backwards, and he scoots back to see who the hell it was that interrupted. Harry lets out a loud gasp. It’s Zayn.

“Are you bloody mad?!” Zayn shouts. “Are you in your right fucking mind?”

Harry is about to answer, but the second he opens his mouth to speak, he starts to cry. His entire body is shaking with sobs, and he can barely hold himself up. He feels Zayn pulling him to his feet, and he can’t walk without leaning against him.

“Dry your eyes,” Zayn murmurs, and he leads him down the stairs. The hallways are empty because everyone is in class, so they’re both able to walk through the front doors without fear of being stopped. 

Harry isn’t sure where Zayn is taking him, but he’s too tired and out of it to question. They get to the school parking lot, and when Zayn opens the car door for him, he gets in. Harry leans against the window and stares out blankly. He thinks this might be a dream. It has to be. Lately, he doesn’t know the difference between dreams and reality, and it’s all muddled. The planes have been intertwined, and he doesn’t really care to sort out the differences.

But this definitely is a dream. Zayn, beautiful and unattainable, would never save him from falling off a building. Zayn would never whisk him away from that prison to some unknown destination. Harry’s life couldn’t possibly be that exciting. Though there’s a part of him that thinks maybe this isn’t a dream.

Zayn gets two milkshakes at a drive-thru, and he continues driving in silence. Harry doesn’t speak, and he holds on to his milkshake even though his fingers become numb from the cold seeping from the cup. That bit of discomfort tips him off to reality. 

The car finally stops, and Harry sees that they’re pretty elevated. Somewhere that’s overlooking the city. The view is beautiful, and he’s never been here before, so he gets out because he wants a better look. 

“Nice, right?” Zayn follows him out, then goes to sit on the hood of his car. 

Harry nods, and he sits next to Zayn. Then he takes a sip of the milkshake, and smiles when he realizes it’s his favorite. Cookies and cream. But then he remembers what had happened back at school, and the smile fades. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Zayn shrugs, then he points to the view. “We can barely see our school from here. Suppose the world is much bigger than that dumb building, and the people in it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything.

“But what do I know, yeah?” Zayn’s eyes flicker down to Harry’s wrist, and when Harry notices, he turns bright red, and quickly pulls his sleeves down a bit more. “Hang on,” Zayn hops off the hood, and goes to fetch something from inside the car. He comes back holding a black marker, and Harry cringes at the sight of it. “Take off that shirt.”

Harry shakes his head, and takes a long drink of his milkshake.

“I’m serious, take it off.”

Harry’s cheeks are bulging with milkshake, and he glares at Zayn a little. Then he swallows, and shrugs off the flannel shirt, leaving him in his white tank. His scars are out in the open, and it embarrasses him. He hates the straight thin lines, one on top of the other, like a small mountain range. He doesn’t want to look at Zayn’s face to see his reaction.

Zayn moves close to Harry, uncaps the marker, and takes a hold of his left arm. He begins to draw stars, planets, clouds of cosmic dust, and even spaceships. It takes a while, but he manages to cover Harry’s entire left arm, and then he moves to the right. Zayn is patient with his drawings, and Harry is in complete awe, he barely notices the time.

Zayn puts the cap on the marker when he finishes, and he traces a finger over his work. Over Harry’s scars. “I wasn’t trying to cover anything,” he says, as he looks at Harry. “I just wanted to put my marks on here too. And maybe you’ll think they’re beautiful enough not to be ruined.” His brows draw together, like he’s unsure of what to say next. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Harry believes him.

\- - - 

The bullying hasn’t stopped, but the physical attacks don’t happen anymore. Harry thinks it’s because of Zayn, and the influence he has on people. He wishes he could be like Zayn, and hold a type of power that people can’t help but acknowledge. Harry admires Zayn, and respects him. And the most bizarre thing is that Zayn admires, and respects him as well. 

It’s different. It’s strange. 

Harry doesn’t have a very good view of himself, so he’s quick to jump to the conclusion that maybe it’s one big joke, and there’s a motive. There are times when he fully believes Zayn is genuine, but then his mind goes back to when his classmates pulled that cruel prank on him, and he can’t help but withdraw. 

“Leave me alone!” Harry shouts. He’s pushed back in a corner of an empty classroom when Zayn finds him. “You’re like the rest of them, aren’t you? Just go away!”

Zayn is calm, and he approaches him slowly, then crouches down in front of him. “I’m not going away.”

Tears are streaming down Harry’s cheeks, and he’s hugging his knees to his chest while shaking his head. “Go away!”

Zayn moves to sit next to him, and he gently takes a hold of Harry’s arm. Harry is hesitant at first, but he’s tired from crying, so he stops struggling. Zayn pushes up Harry’s sleeve, and brushes his fingers over the scars.

“Here’s Mars,” he points to one scar. “And Saturn is over here,” he points to another. “And you can see the Big Dipper.” His fingertips move gently over Harry’s scarred skin, and he’s naming more planets and constellations. Harry is slowly relaxing, and he’s leaning his head against Zayn’s shoulder. “What’s this one right here?” Zayn asks, circling a cluster of scars.

“Orion’s Belt,” Harry replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

They sit there for an hour, and Zayn touches Harry’s skin like it’s precious and priceless. His fingers graze over the scars like they’re art. 

\- - - 

_**I chronicled the days you made me want to live** _

\- - - 

After a few months, Harry lets Zayn hold his hand while they walk down the hall. Soft lips press gentle kisses against his skin, and Harry can’t believe that something can feel better than the sharp pain of a blade. 

He trades the razor for Zayn’s lips, and it’s the best decision he’s ever made.


End file.
